


New Ink

by chaoticbeing



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, every ship mentioned in the tags are going to happen i can promise that, gotham producers owe me blood now so, i realise this is posted the day after the show ended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticbeing/pseuds/chaoticbeing
Summary: Sometimes... the canon... is worse. Sometimes, you just need to take the story into your own hands. Sometimes, Gotham just needs some alteration to fit perfectly.This is a 'fix-it fic', except I'm taking everything, adding some character development, fixing canon mistakes, and adding a couple surprises.





	New Ink

    “I love you, son.”

    “ _ STOP- _ ”

    And with that injection, Dr. Gerald Crane stepped away from the body of his convulsing son. He let the needle drop, not caring where it hit the ground, and watched.

    His head tilted in curiosity, taking in every little movement of the boy, Jonathan, below him. Seeing how he reacted to the toxin, seeing how his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and taking note of all of it.

    Jonathan seemed focused on the scarecrow rising above him, a shadow, an overwhelming presence,

    So Dr. Crane wasn’t surprised when he started to hear his son scream. His mind did not race to save the teenager, nor comfort, nor regret. He stepped away and watched, untouched by the distress.

    The screaming doesn’t stop for several minutes, neither does the shaking, and Dr. Crane can’t take his eyes away.

    Poor, poor Jonathan. He couldn’t take anything well. Everything that Dr. Crane had tried to do for him, everything to benefit both of their lives and his research, Jonathan protested to. He was stubborn, and emotional, so Dr. Crane had grown used to his screams and cries and protests. This was just another one of his fits.

    It had been long enough when Jonathan finally blacks out. The screaming silences after throat going ragged, a hush for only seconds as Dr. Crane scans the unconscious body. Getting on one knee, he’s looking for any sorts of signs physically, any bad reactions on the surface, the wet dirt bleeding into his pants-

    “HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”

    A gruff voice rings out into the backyard, pulling Dr. Crane’s attention away. Although his eyes are adjusted to the dark, he can’t manage out any more that a couple of figures. He squints behind his glasses. He jumps to standing, wheels in his head turning.

     Jankily, he steps forward, wanting a clearer look.

    “HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE’LL SHOOT!” The second one backs up. Calm in his wits, Dr. Crane steps away from the body and towards the two of them. They’re holding guns, they glint in the moonlight, and Dr. Crane feels nothing.

    He feels nothing but confidence. He stumbles forward more, but fixes his stride, and a smile creeps on his face. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

    “ _ NOT ANOTHER STEP! _ ” The gruffer warns.

    “Afraid of your guns?” In what feels like quickness only seen in movies, a gun is drawn and another is fired.

    Those bullets bang and go ringing past his ears, what awful aim, and Dr. Crane continues to move forward. They aren’t going to hit him, he’s confident.

    He instead fires his own gun, the one he kept on him at all moments, for anything that could be seen as more than just a small stressor. This was the one time he had ever drawn it and felt no stress at all, this one time, he knew he needed to pull it out.

    Firing his own gun, he watches as the smaller of the two, the backup, narrowly avoids it. He can’t see his expression, but Dr. Crane knows that any weak person would say that was too close for comfort.

    He steps forward.

    It isn’t until he feels the bullet shock through his shoulder, and lets out a sound of surprise. The pain never shoots through, and at this moment, Dr. Crane notes his entire body feeling on fire.

    Fire.

    Fire meant nothing to him now.

    “I. Have. No. Fear.”

    Despite everything, despite the bullets whizzing past, he keeps firing. There’s something rhythmic about how the bullets ring through the air,

    The two cops keep firing back.

    A hymn of revelations.

    It isn’t until Dr. Crane falls to his knees and soaks his other pant leg that he’s aware of the pain shouting in his body. It no longer feels like a buzzing spark, it feels like small forest fires roaring. In his leg, in his hip, in his shoulder, in his chest.

    His last thoughts, his last moments of consciousness, involve him thinking of his wife. Karen Crane, the love of his life, the perfect southern woman; he had defeated everything that kept them apart.

    Wasn’t everything perfect now? Gerald had conquered his fear, and now everything had the chance to be. Jonathan, sweet Jonathan, who never knew what was good for him, could come join them.

    His eyes shut.

    Detective Harvey Bullock and Jim Gordon come rushing over to the unconscious body. In the darkness, they can both identify the glint of blood. Jim uncocks and stores his gun in the holster, Harvey keeps his out on the body of their main suspect.

    They lock eyes for a moment, before Jim goes into a full-on sprint.

    “You take him. I’ll get the kid,” He plans, before rushing off towards where they heard the screams come from.

    Harvey looks down at the quivering body of the almost-dead man. In all his years of working on the force, he had seen plenty of scumbags. Every one of them he killed he never regret putting in the ground. In situations like these, it was for the betterment of society that he crossed the line.

    Lining up his gun, he lets the bang ring out. The body stops shaking. He had finished the job.

    Jim, on the other hand, hasn’t. There was a good bit of distance between where the kid had to be and where his father took his final resting place. It was amazing how far that man was able to stumble, bleeding and high off his ass, facing death with the cockiness of a reckless teenager.

    Jim freezes when his sees a dark figure cradling the body of the boy. His brain refuses to feed any information about sex, size, weight, anything to make this thing seem human. It’s the darkness mixed with the adrenaline that makes it pointless.

    All that he’s able to see is the reflection of a mask the creature, no not a creature, it had to be human, was wearing. It had a long beak, in what Jim is able to assume is black. It didn’t seem the type to cradle a boy like a dying martyr.

    When he gets closer, the boy, Jonathan Crane as the case file said, is set on the mud. Closer still, close enough to pray to see any sort of key features, and it’s gone.

    All Jim can tell of its departure is the sound of something rustling in the wind. 

    Jonathan Crane blinks back into consciousness. Those terrified eyes start darting all over, a sound leaving his throat like a shout, a cry, and his convulsing starts again.

    “Call an ambulance!” Jim calls over his shoulder for Harvey. He swears under his breath for not being more prepared. They should’ve gotten backup, anything, this man was handling dangerous chemicals and now a child could die. He crouches next to Jonathan Crane and places a reassuring hand on his chest.

    He looks up into the trees, processing just enough to know something for certain.

    “And be careful, I think there’s someone still here.”

**Author's Note:**

> writing this chapter sucked because i had to rewatch this scene. writing this chapter was cool because i got to write how harvey bullock killed gerald crane.
> 
> any questions/suggestions can be commented or sent as an ask to https://horrorsbf.tumblr.com !


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